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by coeurgryffondor
Summary: Timo's tired and exhausted, not just physically but mentally. He's his own country now but he still misses the one he called his long ago, the lover he used to tend to in the night. / Written for the anniversary of Finnish independence from Russia.


**Home**

_The people of Finland have by this step taken their fate in their own hands; a step both justified and demanded by present conditions. The people of Finland feel deeply that they cannot fulfill their national and international duty without complete sovereignty. The century-old desire for freedom awaits fulfillment now; Finland's people step forward as a free nation among the other nations in the world._

The bed is so warm; Timo hears a fire crackling somewhere in the room. Sleepily he goes to shift, nuzzling his head further into the pillow, but then he feels something. Or rather, someone.

He had been exhausted from the trip back from Russia, wanting nothing more than to curl up in his bed and sleep until his ministers worked out all the details. He was his own country now. No one was ruling over him; Timo was free. Independent. He had waited so long for this day.

But his heart had been as exhausted as his body had been upon returning, and there was no denying that he fallen asleep crying. The truth was the small Finn loved his big Swede, missed the one he hadn't seen in over a century. He used to tend to Berwald's wounds while the larger man was asleep, waiting until his lover awoke to kiss him and hold him and whisper of better days to come. Timo wanted his independence but his heart wanted Berwald, and in the night the room had been so empty without him.

Yet as he turns his head he feels something beside him on the pillow. Peaking through tired eyelids Timo can see a hand, then follows the hand down a strong arm to where Berwald has fallen asleep in his chair, head on the edge of the mattress and glasses buried in his hair.

The tears come again immediately.

Just watching the man sleep sends a thousand chills through Timo's body. His sleeves are rolled up, his jacket thrown over the back of the chair and the top buttons of his shirt undone. Before the fire large boots lay haphazardly, probably drying. Berwald shifts, his fingers curling, yawning in his sleep before smacking his lips and falling back into a deep slumber. Timo smiles bittersweetly.

God he loves him, has missed him so much. The Finn dares to reach out and lace his fingers with Berwald's outstretched hand. He has to stifle a laugh, remembering how much bigger that hand is compared to his. Timo imagines a warmth enveloping him the way those warm arms used to, wrapping about him before a roaring fire and kissing him and loving him, simply and purely. Berwald has only ever loved Timo, has never threatened him or hit him or demanded anything of him. All the other Nordic nations have abused each other; perhaps all the other European nations have as well from what Timo learned in Russia. But Berwald has never done that to Timo, because he used to love him perfectly.

Shit, the tears won't stop coming and with his unoccupied hand Timo covers his mouth, drawing his legs up to his chest to bury his head in his knees. He had been so stupid, Berwald was different from the rest. He could have had his independence and kept in touch with the Swede, but his officials had warned against it and like the idiot he was Timo had believed them. As if they knew what it was like to be so loved by such a beautiful man, not for his land or his value as a nation but because Timo was something worth loving. He had been an idiot!

Timo's too busy beating himself up to notice any change until an arm wraps around his bent legs, the other arm freeing itself of Timo's grasp to encircle his torso. "Shh," Berwald whispers and the Finn gasps at the sound of that voice alone. "Shh, it's ok." His former lover sits up more, glasses still atop his head, and those sea-green eyes are unfocused but soft as they take in Timo, who cannot stop himself from reaching out and stroking Berwald's cheeks. "You're independent Timo," the man whispers with a hidden joy. "I'm so proud of you."

The crying shakes his body as Berwald shifts to sit on the bed, holding Timo tightly to his chest. He rubs his back and ruffles his hair and does all those things he used to do when Timo was young, things that have always calmed him and reassured him when he hurt himself or was scared or needed affection. It's like Berwald was built for him, or maybe Timo was the one built for Berwald.

"I love you," the larger man whispers in his ear. "I've never stopped loving you." He used to spend every day with Berwald; now so many days were passed without the Swede. Timo imagines he's made new friends, lost old ones. The Norwegian nation had been there, and the Finn immediately pushes aside the idea that he might have taken his place in Berwald's heart as his lover whispers again, "I love you Timo. I will always love you."

"I-" he gasps against Berwald's chest, hands balling up where the fabric has fallen away from the built torso. The man smells of trees and grass and old books and clean soap and Timo inhales deeply, trying to calm his heart.

"Shh." One hand tips his head back and he cannot look away from those eyes. Berwald takes in his face, a small smile growing, until it is wide and unforgiving and delighted. The Swede shakes his head, his glasses coming expertly down to his nose. He tilts his head back, the metal sliding into place, positioning the glasses in that way Timo has always laughed at. "See?" Berwald asks as Timo giggles, looking at him with focused eyes now. "I've stayed the same for you."

"I love you," Timo breathes, one hand stroking his cheek. "Berwald," he moans. "Berwald, Berwald. Please." Fingers claw at the chest beneath his touch.

"It's ok," and the breath is close to his face as the Swede leans down. "It's ok, Timo, I'm here and I won't leave until you tell me." Their foreheads press together.

"Don't ever leave me! I don't care what anyone says, don't ever leave me!" Then Timo grabs his face and crushes their lips together, lips that were only ever his and he cries more as they move expertly against his. He hasn't been kissed since he left, stealing a kiss in the night from a sleepy Berwald. The larger man must have known, when Timo had rolled him over, kissed him deeply, whispered he loved him. It was the same way they had left the Kalmar Union: in the night with what they could carry packed on their backs. Timo had thought he could live free of Berwald, back in Helsinki, but all that transpired was his coming to terms with the fact that Berwald had always granted him his freedom, right from the start. Even his minsters were never as kind and understanding as he had been.

And in that kiss Timo tries to communicate all that. Berwald's arms wrap around him, pulling him painfully close to his chest, and the Finn cries deeper because the Swede hears his silent pleads. I love you! his head screams over and over as his hands claw at his lover's shirt, ripping it open and pulling it off without regard for the buttons. Soon they're both pulling at each other's clothing with utter abandon until Timo is straddling Berwald's lap, naked, pushing the larger man back against the mattress to touch him and to roll them over.

Kisses trail down his neck, his chest, his stomach. Berwald whispers, "Let me love you," and so Timo makes no move to reciprocate. He'll have time to pay back his lover but tonight, tonight the Finn needs all the loving he can get and the one he loves more than any other needs to show him how much he's missed him. Hands stroke Timo, a mouth envelops him, and too soon he is screaming in Swedish for Berwald to go faster, faster, ah!

Lazy lips press into his thigh as Timo's breathing calms. Berwald must still be on his knees on the floor, waiting for his small lover's signal as to what to do next. "Be?" Timo gasps.

"Umm?" The hum vibrates through his soft flesh.

He closes his eyes, swallowing, tilting his head back. "Please, Be. Do it."

It's all the encouragement Berwald needs, lifting Timo to place him in the center of the mattress. Just the feeling of those large fingers inside him, preparing him, brings the Finn close to the edge again, his breathing quickening, his chest rising and falling rapidly. A kiss is placed on the pulse point on his neck, Berwald's nose running along his jaw. "Love you," the Swede whispers in Finnish.

"Love you," the Finn responds in Swedish.

He doesn't have the energy to stifle his cry when Berwald finally enters him, filling him completely in a way that only he has ever done. Timo's never wanted another, not the way he wants Berwald, and though he cannot show it as easily as his lover he knows the Swede feels the same. Two strong arms sweep under him, holding their chests together, Berwald's lips nipping at where neck meets collarbone. "Tell me when."

There's a pause, a swallow, then Timo nods, ready for him to thrust.

It's sweet agony, his lover moving slowly inside him. There is no reason to rush, nothing to fear when the morning comes. Berwald pushes in expertly, pulling out begrudgingly. As he kisses, as he thrusts, Timo finds himself gasping things he doesn't mean to say but cannot stop from escaping. About how much he's missed Berwald, about how much he hated it in Russia, about how Braginski tried to be kind and that just made it worst because it wasn't the same. About how it scared him there the way the Kalmar Union had towards the end, all the fears it had dredged up and how he used to hate Berwald for having power over him but loves him despite it. Because nothing else matters to Timo if he doesn't have Berwald's affection and he doesn't care anymore if the relationship they have is equal or being controlled by him, he just wants him. He's only ever wanted him.

Berwald's thrusting picks up in pace, leveraging his body to hit that spot that has Timo seeing stars. It only takes a few more thrusts after that for him to have the Finn screaming out, lips greedily kissing the words from his mouth. Timo used to last longer but it's been too long, and as Berwald grabs his hips and finishes with several frantic thrusts the smaller man thinks it must be the same for his Swedish lover. That head rests against his chest when he comes, calling Timo's name. The Finn has just enough energy left to wrap his arms around Berwald's back, waiting for the roll to the side. When it comes he goes willingly, settling in under a Swedish arm to rest his head on Berwald's chest, hearing his heart beat beneath his ear.

They don't speak for a while, just let the fire crack and their breathing return to normal. Now Berwald's scent is also mixed with the smell of sweat and of sex, mixed with the smell of Timo. It's the return of that familiar scent he loves the most, the smell that is all Berwald.

"You're the best thing I've ever had," Berwald whispers, one hand running through Timo's hair. He shifts to look up into sea-green eyes, smiling, before kissing the chest beneath his with a knowing grin.

"I love you Berwald Oxenstierna."

"I love you too, my sweet, sweet Suomi."

The bed is warm beneath the Finn, shifting to sleep on his large Swedish pillow. The fire crackles as Berwald sings old songs, and Timo drifts back to sleep.


End file.
